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Danielle Haynes Feerick

@dkfeerick.bsky.social

174 followers 502 following 204 posts

Ex-pat New Englander in Rochester NY, on the shore of lake Ontario. DIY enthusiast.

Posts Replies Media

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 20/07/2026

My timeline is perfect

Shakespeare posting "be gone" followed by a picture of post-win celebration at the world cup with "Infantino trying to get Trump off the stage lol" posted by Will Jennings

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 10/07/2026

How it started/how it's going

Starting a project = Willem Dafoe in The Life Aquatic. Mid-project = Willem Dafoe in The Lighthouse

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 30/04/2026

Like You

Roque Dalton
Translated by Jack Hirschman

Like you I
love love, life, the sweet smell
of things, the sky-blue
landscape of January days.
And my blood boils up
and I laugh through eyes
that have known the buds of tears.
I believe the world is beautiful
and that poetry, like bread, is for everyone.
And that my veins don't end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life,
love,
little things,
landscape and bread,
the poetry of everyone.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 29/04/2026

How to Be Helpful

Look you might as well know,
this device is going to take endless repair:
rubber cement, rubber bands, tapioca,
the square of the hypotenuse,
nineteenth-century novels, sunrise—
any of these could be useful. Also feathers.
The ignition is tricky. Sometimes
you have to stand on an incline
where things look possible. Or a line
you drew yourself. Or the grocery line,
making faces at a toddler, secretly
over his mother's shoulder.
You may have to pop the clutch
and run past the evidence. Past everyone
who is praying for you. Passing
all previous records is OK, Or passing
strange. Just not passing it up.
Or park it and fly by the seat of your pants.
With nothing in the bank, you will
still want to take the express. Tiptoe
past the dogs of the apocalypse
asleep in the shade of your future.
Pay at the window. You'll be surprised:
you can pass off hope like a bad check.
You still have time, that's the thing
To make it good.

Barbara Kingsolver

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 28/04/2026

Wildflowers

Until I heard the names in my own voice
I never saw them whole: chickweed, toothwort,
May apple, Dutchman's breeches, Indian pipe.
A list was my father's way of witnessing;
it made a flower real. And this afternoon
in the weedy meadow by the towpath, I'm jotting odd names on a scrap of paper
for no one in particular, myself maybe
or my father. Back then I let him teach me
to look down at the ground for stars,
bells, shades of blue. He was never happier than when we looked up accuracy's myriad names
and he wrote them out in slanted letters.
Now, over and over, like a child,
I say gill-over-the-ground, gill-
over-the-ground, gill-over-the-ground,
and in the saying see it blossom again
inside its spilled blue name.

Don't Colburn

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 27/04/2026

The Way In
By Linda Hogan

Sometimes the way to milk and honey is through the body.
Sometimes the way in is a song.
But there are three ways in the world: dangerous, wounding,
and beauty.
To enter stone, be water.
To rise through hard earth, be plant
desiring sunlight, believing in water.
To enter fire, be dry.
To enter life, be food.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 26/04/2026

Yet Do I Marvel

by Countee Cullen

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind,
And did he stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus
Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare
If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus
To struggle up a never-ending stair.
Inscrutable His ways are, and immune
To catechism by a mind too strewn
With petty cares to slightly understand
What awful brain compels His awful hand.
Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:
To make a poet black, and bid him sing!

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 25/04/2026

Come

Every day I am astonished by
how little it know, and discouraged,
obedient as I am to the demand to
know more—always more.

But then there is the slow seep
of light from the day,
and I look to the west where
the hills are darkening,

setting their shoulders to the night,
and the sky peppered with pillows
of mist, their bellies burnt
by the furnace of the sun.

And it is then that I notice
the invitation didn't say, Come
armed with knowledge and a loud voice.
It only said, Come.

Andrew Colliver

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 24/04/2026

Walk It Off Octopus
Tyler Starks

On a day like today, I can love you forever.
Sorry for being so forward. Sorry for wrapping you up
in such a large, intense gesture. In fact, today reminds me of an afternoon
years ago, when I was in class, marine biology, which took place
in the depths of a concrete building, this damp and dark basement
simulating the bottom of the sea, and the teacher, an all-around solid guy,
waxed on
and on about the individual functions for the three hearts
in an octopus, which I figured, and still believe, we're all for love, which
would also explain all their tentacles hopelessly trying to get a grip
on everything passing by, and also through this one window, level with the
ground,
I could just make out that the first hours of spring, right then,
were just kind of blowing around, and people could finally stand outside
without wanting to kill themselves, and willing to offer one another
some loose chatter, nothing too heavy, and my heart, that ridiculous
and troublesome car part, was doing some leaps in my chest, really making
itself known
and if I had three of them nothing else would ever get a word in, I mean
at that point, I'd be one giant heart machine, bumping into stuff
and when I came up for air, the teacher had, I guess, moved on
to the bacterial communities inhabiting seaweed and I'm still trying
to figure out how he had the courage to do just that.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 23/04/2026

Happy birthday Shakespeare

Sonnet 146

Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth,
These rebel powers that thee array;
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?
Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 22/04/2026

An Inscription on Children
by Desanka Maksimovich

Children have always embraced thorns
and a snake they took in their arms,
and the thorns took mercy on them
and turned to flowers,
and the snake took mercy on them
and turned to rainbow.

Children have always stepped into the ocean
thinking it was knee-high,
Children have always leaned over the abyss
thinking they could embrace it,
and the ocean took mercy on them
bringing them in its arms to shore,
and the abyss took mercy on them
throwing itself in their arms.

Children have always, in view of their heart,
conceived people—
and the people took no mercy on them.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 21/04/2026

Spring
by Linda Pastan

Just as we lose hope
she ambles in,
a late guest
dragging her hem
of wildflowers,
her torn
veil of mist,
of light rain,
blowing
her dandelion
breath
in our ears;
and we forgive her,
turning from
chilly winter
ways,
we throw off
our faithful
sweaters
and open
our arms.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 20/04/2026

Spring
By Edna St. Vincent Millay
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 19/04/2026

"God", Michael Bazzett

for Ada Limon

Look, it's not that I believe in him. Nor he
in me. We have moved beyond all that.
Usually we sit in silence, waiting for passing
headlights to glide across the ceiling and knock
stray prayers lose from where they got
stuck on their way out, so many years ago.
It's almost like finding old piñata candy
says God, picking one from the floorboards.
He unwrap it, takes a quick taste. Winces.
Nods like he's just remembered something
for the thousandth, thousandth time.
What is it? I ask. It's kind of like chewing
tinfoil, he says. All that aching naked hope.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 18/04/2026

Leila Chatti

Once in a While I Am Reminded

I am not at the center of anything. Seen at a distance
I am hardly seen. Excruciating, how here
I am, how little
it means. I use my mouth to make sounds
which approximate my innermost thoughts
but often bungle it. I use my eyes when I need to
be understood. Sometimes I tell the truth
but only when I think I'll be valued
for being interesting instead of good.
I marvel at what I call my life—ambulances, sparrows,
clouds passing definitively by—amazed that it doesn't
know it's mine at all, the minor characters
don't look up, the narrative sags, and I
each moment wondering if this is
when the real story starts.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 17/04/2026

A Person Protests to Fate

Jane Hirshfield

A person protests to fate:

"The things you have caused
me most to want
are those that furthest elude me."

Fate nods.
Fate is sympathetic.

To tie the shoes, button a shirt,
are triumphs
for only the very young,
the very old.

During the long middle:

conjugation a rivet
mastering tango
training the cat to stay off the table
preserving a single moment longer than this one
continuing to wake whatever has happened the day before

and the penmanships love practices inside the body.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 16/04/2026

Li-Young Lee

To Hold

So we're dust. In the meantime, my wife and I
make the bed. Holding opposite edges of the sheet,
we raise it, billowing, then pull it tight,
measuring by eye as it falls into alignment
between us. We tug, fold, tuck. And if I'm lucky,
she'll remember a recent dream and tell me.

One day we'll lie down and not get up.
One day all we guard will be surrendered.

Until then, we'll go on learning to recognize
what we love, and what it takes
to tend what isn't for our having.
So often fear has led me
to abandon what I know I must relinquish
in time. But for the moment
I'll listen to her dream,
and she to mine, our mutual hearing calling
more and more detail into the light
of a joint and fragile keeping.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 15/04/2026

In the Grove: The Poet at Ten
Jane Kenyon
She lay on her back in the timothy
and gazed past the doddering
auburn heads of sumac.

A cloud—huge, calm,
and dignified—covered the sun
but did not, could not, put it out.

The light surged back again.

Nothing could rouse her then
from that joy so violent
it was hard to distinguish from pain.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 14/04/2026

Night is a Cistern
By Adam Zagaiewski
Translated by Clare Cavanagh
Night is a cistern. Owls sing. Refugees tread
meadow roads
with the loud rustling of endless grief.
Who are you, walking in this worried crowd.
And who will you become, who will you be
when day returns, and ordinary greetings circle
round.

Night is a cistern. The last pairs dance at a country
ball.
High waves cry from the sea, the wind rocks
pines.
An unknown hand draws the dawn's first stroke.
Lamps fade, a motor chokes.
Before us, life's path, and instants of astronomy.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 13/04/2026

The world did not implode when we said no.
Instead, it opened like an oyster,
like a tulip in the spring, like curtains
on a stage. Life yawned
before us, pleading, begging, fall into me.
A red carpet unrolled,
the hours sprawled before us.
We clung to the day's curves and planes like barnacles,
hellbent on swaying to the lullaby of life.
We came to understand that time ticks differently,
away from the routine and rules.
We swam in the river, watched the jay fly, and baked
the red velvet cake, licking the spoons
until our tongues were heavy with sugar.
Listen, do you hear it?
The children, laughing. The husbands,
whispering. The birds, singing.
The thrum of life's goodness
is all around us. Aren't you glad
we had the courage to say no?

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 12/04/2026

Legacies
Nikki Giovanni

her grandmother called her from the playground
"yes, ma'am"
"i want chu to learn how to make rolls" said the old
woman proudly
but the little girl didn't want
to learn how because she knew
even if she couldn't say it that
that would mean when the old one died she would be less
dependent on her spirit so
she said
"i don't want to know how to make no rolls"
with her lips poked out
and the old woman wiped her hands on
her apron saying " lord
these children"
and neither of them ever
said what they meant
and i guess nobody ever does

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 11/04/2026

The Loneliest Job in the World
Tony Hoagland

As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me?
you are completely screwed, because
the next question is How Much?

and then it is hundreds of hours later,
and you are still hunched over
your flowcharts and abacus,

trying to decide if you have gotten enough.
This is the loneliest job in the world:
to be an accountant of the heart.

It is late at night. You are by yourself,
and all around you, you can hear
the sounds of people moving

in and out of love,
pushing the turnstile, putting
their coins in the slots,

paying the price which is asked,
which constantly changes.
No one knows why.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 10/04/2026

Annie Lighthart

A Cure Against Poisonous Thought

Believe the world goes on
and this bee bending
in honeysuckle just one
of a mighty nation, golden
beads thrumming
a long invisible thread.

In the green drift of an afternoon,
the body is not root but wick:
the press of light surrounds it.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 09/04/2026

safe

watch out for the ice, i say.
be careful on the road, in the snow.
the fog, the rain. don't be sad.
please sleep. eat this arugula.
drink some water. wear your coat.
call me when you land.

there are a million ways to say i love you

& forgive me, i know nothing
about baseball, but something
in me breaks with joy when
the runner rushes in, body flung
& reaching, & the umpire
lifts his arms out like a prophet
or a mother & makes him safe.

J. Sullivan

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 08/04/2026

Try to Praise the Mutilated World
By Adam Zagaiewski
Translated by Clare Cavanagh

Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees going nowhere,
You've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 07/04/2026

Although the wind...
By Izumi Shikibu
Translated by Jane Hirshfield

Although the wind
blows terribly here
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 06/04/2026

the grief walking into therapy

by Nicole Arzt

the sudden death / the expected death / the death that mercilessly cracked your soul / the old identity you did not know could change / the parent you never had / the parent you did have / the body that changed / the body that didn't / the abortion the miscarriage the stillborn / the goodest pet taken too young / the goodest pet that lived a thousand lives / the way it was before the war the illness the heartbreak the suicide the abandonment the relapse the procedure the betrayal / the dream forced into early retirement / the aching regret that knocks your heart / the past that never was / the present that holds the unmet needs / and the future that might not be

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 05/04/2026

At Church. I Tell My Mom She's Singing Off-Key and She Says,

I ain't off-key, I just stepped out the key
so when I return,
you can understand the key a little bit better.
The preacher isn't the only
teacher. Why hit a note on the head
when I can kill it? You mean to tell me
you come here week after week
and want the same old Amazing
Grace? Just cause the Blood will never lose its power
don't mean a melody won't.
My ministry may not be song, but I got a song
to sing. I done made it from Sunday
to Sunday. You expect me not to celebrate
and thank God, with my hands raised,
my flats off, my full and open
throat?

Michael Frazier

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 04/04/2026

The Second Going
by Philip Levine

Again the
day begins, only
no one wants its sanity
or it's blinding clarity. Daylight is
not what we came all this way for. A
pinch of salt, a drop of schnapps in our cup
of tears, the ticket to the life to come, a short life of
long nights & absent dawns & a little mercy in the tea.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 03/04/2026

An Update to My Privacy Policy

I have updated my Privacy Policy
as part of my ongoing commitment
to not being found,

using simple-to-understand language,
such as "please go away"
and "just leave me alone".

I will not share myself with third parties
dinner parties or fancy dress parties.
For offers of free biscuits,

please consult my Cookie Policy.
My Privacy is important to me
as is this duvet.

You are receiving this poem
because you have expressed an interest
in receiving this poem.

Please know that you can unsubscribe
from this poem at any time,
By clicking here.

Brian Bilston

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 02/04/2026

The Bird Eats a Building

The bird lands in a puddle,
instantly shattering the relection of a building,
which she eats in pieces
like a cracker crushed in soup.
She dips her wings into pavement,
throws her head backwards,
gargles the second floor copier before flying away,
leaving the puddle to grow a skyscraper–
like Prometheus developing a new liver each night,
the price of stealing fire.

Danielle Hanson

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 01/04/2026

This World
Czesław Miłosz
Translated by Robert Hass

It appears that it was all a misunderstanding.
What was only a trial run was taken seriously.
The rivers will return to their beginnings.
The wind will cease in its turning about.
Trees instead of budding will tend to their roots.
Old men will chase a ball, a glance in the mirror —
They are children again.
The dead will wake up, not comprehending.
Till everything that happened has unhappened.
What a relief! Breathe freely, you who suffered much.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 06/12/2025

Misfire at the #geneseekegtree lighting ceremony

000

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 15/06/2025

Gotta love peony season 🌱

Pink and white peonies in a recycled turquoise gin bottle

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 18/05/2025

Rain on & off all day, but turning into a beautiful night

Kodak tower from Innovative field at sunset

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 18/05/2025

Let's hope this bodes well for the home team! #RochesterNY

Double rainbow all the way across the sky in right field

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 12/05/2025

Found the sparrow nest!

6 light blue speckled eggs in a nest lined partially with moss from the lawn

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 10/05/2025

This is in one of the dwarf Alberta spruce that flanks our front door. There's a sparrow nest in the other one, but I haven't found it yet.

4 blue eggs in a nest surrounded by evergreenery

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 10/05/2025

As I leave work on a Friday evening at 7:15, no lies detected.

Paper plate award: "Hardest working APP Danielle, thanks for all you do for our patients at GOG!!" Full disclosure: I was the only APP working today, so by default I was the hardest working.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 30/04/2025

Things to do in th Belly of the Whale Dan Albergotti

Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days.
Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires
with the broken hulls of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals.
Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices.
Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way
for the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review
each of your life’s ten million choices. Endure moments
of self-loathing. Find the evidence of those before you.
Destroy it. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound
of gears and moving water. Listen for the sound of your heart.
Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope,
where you can rest and wait. Be nostalgic. Think of all
the things you did and could have done. Remember
treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes
pointing again and again down, down into the black depths.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 29/04/2025

Arrythmia Hailey Leithauser

The heart of a bear is a cloud-shuttered
mountain. The heart of a mountain’s a kiln.
The white heart of a moth has nineteen white
chambers. The heart of a swan is a swan.

The heart of a wasp is a prick of plush.
The heart of a skunk is a mink. The heart
of an owl is part blood and part chalice.
The fey mouse heart rides a dawdy dust-cart.

The heart of a kestrel hides a house wren
at nest. The heart of lark is a czar.
The heart of a scorpion is swidden

and spark. The heart of a shark is a gear.
Listen and tell, thrums the grave heart of humans.
Listen well love, for it’s pitch dark down here.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 28/04/2025

Why read poetry if it won't make you rich? Joy Sullivan

For starters, your soul will get bigger.
Your love, more terrible and luminous.
Soon you'll say tender things at parties
after too much champagne. A sidewalk
quince, wet with midnight, will stop
you in your tracks. In time, you'll
find the perfect metaphor for your
child's face. All at once you'll see
the world and want it again:
clothes flapping on the line,
lilacs strewn and seeding, the luck
of worms. An artichoke with its heart
torn hot and steaming from the throbbing
crown will suddenly turn you on.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 27/04/2025

Illicit happiness in Boston

Street graffiti of an abstract face on brick, with caption "illicit happiness" printed in block letters above

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 27/04/2025

Some glad morning Joyce Sutphen

One day, something very old
happened again. The green
came back to the branches,
settling like leafy birds
on the highest twigs;
the ground broke open
as dark as coffee beans.

The clouds took up their
positions in the deep stadium
of the sky, gloving the
bright orb of the sun
before they pitched it
over the horizon.

It was as good as ever:
the air was filled
with the scent of lilac
s and cherry blossoms
sounded their long
whistle down the track
It was some glad morning.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 27/04/2025

God says yes to me Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 25/04/2025

My Name Mark Strand

One night when the lawn was a golden green
and the marbled moonlit trees rose like fresh memorials
in the scented air, and the whole countryside pulsed
with the chirr and murmur of insects, I lay in the grass
feeling the great distances open above me, and wondered
what I would become-and where I would find myself-
and though I barely existed, I felt for an instant
that the vast star-clustered sky was mine, and I heard
my name as if for the first time, heard it the way
one hears the wind or the rain, but faint and far off
as though it belonged not to me but to the silence
from which it had come and to which it would go.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 24/04/2025

April morning Jonathan Wells

You are living the life
you wanted as if you'd known
what that was but of course
you didn't so you'd groped
toward it feeling for what
you couldn't imagine, what
your hands couldn't tell you,
for what that shape could be.

This Sunday the rain turns cold
again and steady but the window
is slightly open and there is the vaguest
sense of bird song somewhere in the gaps
between the buildings because it's spring
the calendar says and the room where
you are reading is empty yet full
of what loves you and this is the day
that you were born.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 24/04/2025

Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead William Shakespeare

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell;
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if (I say) you look upon this verse,
When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 22/04/2025

What you gain from walking Rachel Huckel

I know where the marigolds bloom, the days the council more the lawns. I know the lemons are a week away from ripe, the households that haven't taken down their Christmas lights. I know where to find the dogs that will greet you with glee as you pass their gate, the gatesits in your best interest to speed walk by. I know why that shop shut down (I saw the handwritten sign in the window). I know where the rock juts out from the walkway (I tripped on it last week).

There used to be a time I thought the only knowledge I needed to gain was the kind that made me useful. I fear i am losing valuable real estate in my mind, for lately I have been renting it out to facts that are utterly useless.

I feel they are making me richer.

Danielle Haynes Feerick @dkfeerick.bsky.social · 20/04/2025

Citizen of Dark Times Kim Stafford

Agenda in a time of fear: Be not afraid.
When things go wrong, do right.
Set out by the half-light of the seeker.
For the well-lit problem begins to heal.

Learn tropism toward the difficult.
We have not arrived to explain, but to sing.
Young idealism ripens into an ethical life.
Prune back regret to let faith grow.

When you hit rock bottom, dig farther down.
Grief is the seed of singing, shame the seed of song.
Keep seeing what you are not saying.
Plunder your reticence.

Songbird guards a twig, its only weapon a song.